poemimage

Where text meets image. Where the visual intersects the literary. Often posting 1st drafts and editing in (almost) real time.

Alchemy Begins in the Rain

I stand in the rain as alchemy begins

curving like a river sparkling with radioactive particles

swallowing dried flecks of ink at the manuscript factory

curvilinear like a small and large intestine

sweeping & twisting

on television

experts prove it never happened

dance the paper airplane dance

surround a plaster statue

Julius Caesar

spies a peacock bobbing his head

crying Vox clamantis in deserto

the conspiracy unfolds

a small and large intestine swallows the light of the sun

I dance myself into a golden egg.

One Thing I Can Tell You

Perhaps John Lennon never

considered old flat top a dolmen

never say never

I heard them say

in John Lennon world

You got to be free

forever

north south east west

never say never

I heard them say

beneath

beside

bequeathing dolmens

bequeathing breath

infinity

soul

north south east west

never say never

I heard them say.

Expressive Encounter

I worked on the back porch early

drinking black coffee

like in a trance

creating expressive black & white works on paper

I thought of as ‘cave art.’

As the rising sun created light and heat

Denisovans climbed the back stairs

to the porch.

Denisovans stood watching me

in a dark and cool room.

I pointed outside the window

they touched their skin.

O’ Dishcloth Colour of the Sun

A classic Piet Mondrian composition collaged incorporating a photograph of my sister’s heroic torn dishcloth.

A ceiling light reflected on the floor, beside the dishcloth, resembling the flame of an oil lamp.

A dyed cotton weave delivering flame to Mondrian’s composition.

Mondrian’s static & inorganic (yet dynamic) composition collaged with incongruity, warmth & organic emotion.

Energy (like Van Gogh’s sunflowers) frayed & twisted contrasting with Mondrian’s geometric formula.

‘I Know’

‘Do you need a ride home?’

‘Yes, I just arrived.’

‘Where will you be staying?’

‘Wherever they will have me and speak the truth.’

‘Have you heard of television?’

‘I have read The Little Box poems by Vasko Popa.’

‘Those are two different things.’

‘I know.’

Medieval Gamblers

Medieval Gamblers by Steven McCabe

I listened earlier to Bob Dylan singing ‘As I Went Out One Morning’ and put up a blog post about the revolutionary Tom Paine and the lyrics to the song (on Dylan’s 1968 John Wesley Harding album) and a photo of Bob receiving the 1963 Thomas Paine award (& how he went on a rant against the respectable liberal audience) & so it goes. In the end I decided to simply show this B&W art (Medieval Gamblers) created in Photoshop today via digital collage & possibly using elements of ink drawings. I could feel the atmosphere of the medieval inn, and textures like wood and burlap, and the mood of danger lurking. There seems to also be danger lurking here & now so it’s not so difficult to intuit. As for gambling I’ve never allowed others to gamble with me. At least I’ve tried & so it goes.

As I went out one morning
To breathe the air around Tom Paine’s
I spied the fairest damsel
That ever did walk in chains
I offer’d her my hand
She took me by the arm
I knew that very instant
She meant to do me harm

“Depart from me this moment”
I told her with my voice
Said she, “But I don’t wish to”
Said I, “But you have no choice”
“I beg you, sir,” she pleaded
From the corners of her mouth
“I will secretly accept you
And together we’ll fly south”

Just then Tom Paine, himself
Came running from across the field
Shouting at this lovely girl
And commanding her to yield
And as she was letting go her grip
Up Tom Paine did run,
“I’m sorry, sir,” he said to me
“I’m sorry for what she’s done”

– Bob Dylan, 1968

Running Backwards

Running backwards on a night when all is lost.

When you cannot remember what is lost.

When you see the night-sky running backwards.

It could have been

this is…synchronicity

This is a painted mask.

This is also a painted mask.

This is a complimentary cookie in a wax paper bag stapled to a brown paper bag.

I posted a few days ago about the cow in the time machine

a few minutes later

I sat outside a cafe on a bench waiting for take-out food.

I read about a cow in the book I grabbed on the way out

then again on the previous page

then I looked to see the title of the chapter.

This is…synchronicity.

Time Machine

I told them I was no expert but they signed the contract anyway.

The flight to the cave in the mountains was so long it included five meals.

When it came time to adjust the settings they told me I would be the operator.

They asked me over the intercom what I saw.

I said, ‘A cow.’

They said, A bull belonging to Genghis Khan?

A bull breathing fire?

A bull pulling a chariot across the sky?

I said, ‘A cow in a barn

watching Sonny and Cher sing The Beat Goes On.’

They said, ‘Adjust the settings.’

I did. They said, ‘Where are you?’

I said, ‘I see Rasputin.’

They said, ‘What is he doing?’

I said, ‘Building a time machine.’